


Incarnate

by cleodoxa



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-07-12
Updated: 2010-07-12
Packaged: 2017-10-10 12:53:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 16,265
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/99995
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cleodoxa/pseuds/cleodoxa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Death is away on his honeymoon and Harry is forced to stand in.  The first name on the list of the dead is Draco Malfoy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

  
  
  
  
  


**Entry tags:**

| 

  
[fic](http://cleodoxa.livejournal.com/tag/fic), [hp](http://cleodoxa.livejournal.com/tag/hp), [incarnate](http://cleodoxa.livejournal.com/tag/incarnate)  
  
  
---|---  
  
**Rating:** NC-17  
**Pairing(s):** Harry/Draco  
**Summary:** Death is away on his honeymoon and Harry is forced to stand in. The first name on the list of the dead is Draco Malfoy.  
**Warnings:** None, really.  
**Word Count:** 16, 200

Written for [](http://community.livejournal.com/hd_career_fair/profile)[**hd_career_fair**](http://community.livejournal.com/hd_career_fair/)

  
In the depths of sleep Harry realised the insides of his eyelids were pasted with orange wallpaper. He began a dream in which he investigated the matter and the course of his investigations eventually led him to open his eyes. He found the source of the orange was the light on in his room, though outside it was still dark. Something twisted oddly around his spine and Harry rolled over to look at the door. Black robes by the door. Harry slipped his hand under his pillow and grasped his wand. Then his eyes travelled up and his hand stilled.

"Don't take alarm, now," said... Death? Really? Death? Delicate linked finger-bones trailing out of the voluminous sleeves, head slipping back to reveal the smooth white skull, holes for eyes like a mask and an empty grin. Death, personified and physical in Harry's room, speaking without a mouth.

"This is it?" said Harry, numb. Why, how could this be it?

"No," said Death. "No, this visit is not in the usual line of business. Indeed, I wish to temporarily leave off my line of business, which is where you come in." He paused with an air of satisfaction. Harry stared back at him, propped up on his elbows.

"The mortal with whom I found my dealings most engaging, who seemed to understand my rules as few do, to whom I was my most enlightening, was Ignotus Peverell. Who better than Ignotus Peverell's direct descendent to come to, then, when I want to liaise with human mortality?"

Harry felt a familiar feeling dawn, that _it really is always me, isn't it_, feeling. Automatically spurred into action by it, he sat up.

"In what _way_ do you want to liaise with mortality?" Harry demanded, staring at Death's skull.

"Well first of all in a very direct way – marriage. But that is all taken care of, and is not where you come in. I haven't left off my duties since the world began, you know. I think the time has come for a holiday of some kind and what better occasion than my honeymoon?"

Harry felt absurd, horrid inklings bloom in his brain.

Death began to potter about the room as he spoke, tapping things with his finger bones.

"I must concede that this is quite a responsibility I intend to lay upon you, but it is far less alarming than it sounds at first."

"I can't do what Death does!" Harry interrupted.

"Someone has to. And for a few short weeks, it isn't going to be me," Death said, somewhat snappish.

"But I don't know what you do! And I'm human, I don't want to be death," said Harry, with horrible visions of himself remade skeletal and foreboding.

"Really, Mr. Potter, there's no need to be afraid. You will remain quite yourself throughout and my task is the simplest of things to master. I need only let you into my time and you will be quite set up."

"But you're _Death_," Harry said stubbornly. "You can't – you are what you do, you can't make someone else do it."

Death's jaw tilted up. "I am quite entitled to marriage – with mortality too. There is all manner of precedent for it. And I am also entitled to a honeymoon. As for you, it's a challenge, a task. It's exactly the sort of thing that might happen in a folktale. In fact, thinking about it, I'm amazed I haven't done this before. I am quite within my rights."

"But I'm _human_, it can't be right. I don't – it's unnatural for me to speak to you even," said Harry. He thought of all those dire warnings attached to Timeturners, how people were unable to live with the things that happened when you were allowed to break the rules and know all those hidden half-believed things.

"Think of Ignotus," said Death, leaning back against Harry's chest of drawers, arms crossed. "Quite unscarred by his dealings with me." Harry opened his mouth. "While his brothers were less fortunate, which certainly shows you must deal with me the right way, doesn't it?

"Anyway, I thought I'd give you a little notice – I'm not going away now. I shall leave after my wedding on Wednesday." This was Monday night. "It is possible," said Death, "that you will recognise the name of my bride."

"Someone I _know_?" said Harry, horrified.

"Cecily Leaven."

"Oh." Cecily Leaven was a model from the Muggle world, whose fame was such that it had entered the consciousness of the wizarding world with its new open and vaguely interested attitude to Muggles, and had in turn vaguely permeated even Harry's consciousness.

"Well," said Death. "I am not sure you're taking this as I would have hoped, from the descendent of one of the very, very few mortal to whom I have granted anything. Still, you have ample opportunity ahead to prove yourself. I will collect you for the wedding on Wednesday morning – do feel free to invite guests. I should like the occasion to _be_ an occasion."

And then he went, not quite all at once, but fading over the course of a second or two so it took a moment for the eye to adjust. Harry cupped his hands over his face and listened to his breath, heavy against his palms. For a while the scene that had just occurred filled Harry's mind with the ugly sensation of a nightmare. He was horrified by what happened. To lay eyes on the reality of all those little stick figures littering the pages of Dark Arts books is a shock that was never _meant_ to be visited on the living. It is as thought the Dark Mark was personified, though then again perhaps it was the same thing. The image was what throbbed in Harry's mind like a bruise; just that skeleton and the knowledge that this was _Death_.

Just the sight, the presence though – hardly the least of it. The chilliness was replaced by the heat of indignant speculation. It really blood was always him. He hadn't really felt like that since Voldemort. He'd felt that he had only been a person in a particular place at a particular time. He'd had a task there was no choice but to acquit, after which he was free to live his own life. Here again, however, was the feeling from his schooldays that he must have a sign on his back. Harry got up and paced his flat, trotting round the bed and the sofa.

He was _busy_, for God's sake, he always was. If this ridiculous prospect really manifested, at its least threatening it would be a terrible inconvenience. He had made himself necessary.

In the end Harry succumbed to temptation and sent an owl to Ron and Hermione. He had at last come to rest on the sofa by the time they tumbled out of the fireplace in their dressing gowns.

"What's this about death? Are you alright?" asked Hermione at once.

"Yes, I suppose. For the moment. I meant actual Death, with a skeleton, you know. He says he's going away."

"What? Death came to talk to you?" said Ron.

"A little preparation for taking over from him," said Harry.

"But – so the Deathly Hallows story is _real_," asked Hermione, reaching for Harry's arm. "So your cloak _actually_ came from Death?"

"Oh, yes, that's why he's landed on me. Fond memories of Ignotus Peverell."

"But what's he making you do?" asked Ron. "I don't get it. Death can't _not_ be Death. I mean, what's he going off to do?"

"Death is going to marry Cecily Leaven. This Wednesday. Then he's off on his honeymoon," said Harry.

"_Cecily Leaven_?" Ron and Hermione demanded in unison.

"But she's a _Muggle_," said Hermione. "However did they get to know each other?"

"She's _famous_," said Ron. "How can she just up and marry Death? Won't people find out?"

"They've probably sold the wedding to _Okay_," said Hermione, getting heated. "This is dreadful. It sounds like Death is losing it, running amok or something. And what is he trying to make you do again?"

"Do his job while he's away. Go around taking souls or whatever exactly it is."

"Hermione's mouth opened a little. "So you'll actually discover the mystery of death. My god." They were silent for a moment. "That's too much for a Mortal," said Hermione. "It might send you mad. There has to be someone who can get you out of this, you should tell the Ministry."

"It sounds like the Department of Mysteries' thing," said Ron.

"Well, I don't know what they're good for if it isn't," said Hermione. "Harry, you might need all the time you can get to do something. You should send them an owl now."

"So everything really does happen to you even when it's not about being the Boy Who Lived," said Ron while Harry wrote his letter, his haste blotting his prose. He grimaced sympathetically.

The pale shape of an owl came fluttering at Harry's window not two minutes after he had let his own out of it.

"_Dear Mr. Potter,_ he read, _In entirely unprecedented circumstances, the mystical personage known as Death has contacted the Ministry, more specifically the Department of Mysteries. He refuses to perform his duties for an unspecified period over the next few weeks, and as you may be aware, has chosen you as his substitute. He declines to leave the matter in the hands of our Unspeakables instead. In light of this, the Ministry is not sure it has anything constructive to bring to the situation but can only sadly await probable disaster._"

"There's the Department of Mysteries for you," said Hermione. She had found them tiresome for years.

"So what are you supposed to do?" asked Ron.

"I suppose if the worst comes to the worst I can just do it. I don't know, maybe it'll be okay."

"Maybe you should leave it just now – get some sleep and go into the Ministry in the morning. You'll have to tell the Auror Department you might be away, anyway," said Hermione.

Ron nodded. "Maybe Kingsley can do something with the Department of Mysteries."

"Yeah. Okay, you go back to bed. I guess I'll see you tomorrow."

When Ron and Hermione had gone Harry got back into bed and pulled the covers over his head.

*

Kingsley looked most unhappy when Harry managed to get across his story – it took a little while for him to make it sound more coherent than rambling about death in the abstract. Frowning and saying little, he got up to make his way down to the Department of Mysteries.

When he and Harry arrived outside, he rapped his wand on the door. A bolt of fiery red shot out of it and through the door with a loud crack. After a few moments an Unspeakable opened the door a crack and edged his way out of it. Harry knew him by sight; a solid, pale young man, he looked as if he had been expecting to see them. When this was verified by the sight of them he pursed his lips before wrenching his face into a polite, expectant expression.

Kingsley caught the door as it swung a little behind the Unspeakable (Harry thought his name was Merthington), and pushed his way past him into the Department. Harry looked around the large hall, the walls lined with doors. There seemed something subtly different structurally since the last time he saw it, the ceilings, walls and floor wider, deeper, straining further.

The hall was busy. There were people sitting on the floor, a few staring into fires, some muttering with their eyes closed, and others leafing through books or sifting through cards and coins. One person, holding a book in front of them, was doing a shuffling little dance. One or two of these people were Unspeakables, but most of the Unspeakables were sitting at a table talking loudly, a woman scribbling at a roll of parchment in tandem with a Quick Quotes Quill to get everything down.

"I see you didn't think it necessary to involve me in drawing up a plan of action," said Kingsley.

The man who had opened the door said, "I hope you don't take it amiss, but our Department has always necessarily maintained a position somewhat aloof from the Ministry."

"So you've got the diviners in," said Harry in exasperated amusement. "I'm pretty sure you won't change Death's mind even if you do get in touch with him."

"Harry, this simply cannot happen. A human is sure to make a terrible mess of Death's duties. The news will probably get out, I can't begin to imagine how the wizarding public will react – and it sets a very dangerous precedent. The whole structure of the universe will break down without Death!" said Kingsley, imploring as though it was Harry he needed to sway. He marched over to the table and sat down with a thud. "You have to find a way to stop him. What have you got so far?"

"It's more a contingency plan against the structure of the universe breaking down," said Eloise Midgen. "I'm not sure we are going to get through to Death in either sense of the phrase."

Harry sat down and listened to them all, his mind a little lighter with weary amusement at their indignation and turmoil of suggestions, and a defiant feeling of resignation to the prospect ahead of him. Resignation was after all how Harry lived a lot of his life, something he had realised recently and been somewhat surprised at. It was a funny feeling, like a cheerful kind of anger as if he absorbed situations, burned them up and used them for fuel.

Harry ill advisedly inquired of the woman dancing, as she came sliding her way around the table, what the aim was. She grasped his arms and pulled them off into circling steps while she tried to explain the Danse Macabre.

"Some fascinating incidents have been recorded in connection with it," she told him. "But we have only these illustrations to go on and they are _very_ badly drawn."

After a while Harry left, though Kingsley seemed reluctant to let him go, to break the news to the rest of the Aurors. Kingsley called after him when he had pulled the door open.

"Harry, they won't know what to make of it. It will be better if I come with you."

Harry thought it would surely be better coming from him, but when he got there he realised he had underestimated what a non sequitur the whole thing was. Harry was, of course, used to having to get to grips with astonishing events and when he became an Auror he reminded himself that even though all that was over with, he must never forget to expect anything.

When he finally got home after having his head filled with wild possibilities and passing the least alarming interpretations onto the other Aurors, he told Ron and Hermione about it being best to expect everything.

"You're turning into Moody," said Ron. Memories of Moody flickered in their minds, and they all looked a little sad.

"So you were there all day and no one's come up with anything?" said Hermione.

"You're definitely still in for it?" asked Ron.

"Pretty much. I did quite like seeing all the Unspeakables without a clue. They all seemed so anxious."

Hermione looked as if she was struggling not to say someone could surely have done something. "I don't think there actually is a way to bind Death. But that doesn't mean we shouldn't be looking into _getting_ a way. Perhaps some kind of contract would be the way forward."

"So when is it actually happening tomorrow?" Ron asked.

"Death said he'd be picking me up in the morning for his wedding. Would you mind coming, or would that not be a good idea? He said he wouldn't mind if I brought guests."

"Yeah, we'll come," said Ron. He looked at Hermione. "I mean, it won't be a trap or anything, will it?"

"Well, we have to go," said Hermione. "We need to know everything we can about the situation. There doesn't seem any particular reason to suppose we won't be alright."

"Will we still be able to see you while you're being Death? Or will you be too busy or in another realm or what?" asked Ron.

"I don't know. Death said something about letting me into his time," said Harry.

"We'll have to ask Molly if she doesn't mind keeping Rosie and Hugo for the night," said Hermione. "It's best we stay here if we want to come with you; he might whisk you off suddenly."

After Flooing Molly, Hermione exhaled briskly and clapped her hands. "You come and have dinner at ours and try and keep your mind off it."

"Yeah," said Ron. "It'll probably be okay anyway, Harry. You'll have a few strange weeks, then he'll come back and everything will go back to normal."

*

Harry tried to bear this in mind later that evening, hanging about all jittery in his living room while Hermione conjured bedclothes. Then he went to bed and forced himself into a state of calm. He would get a good night's sleep, get to grips with whatever was demanded of him, and get it over with.

*

They all woke up early, and sat about drinking coffee and eating toast and biscuits with a mounting sense of indignation. Around midmorning Death finally appeared in the living room, his entrance giving the impression of a cheerful skid. He honestly looked rather dashing in his mauve suit, though the scythe tucked under his arm lent a quaint touch.

"And now we make a start," said Death, turning to look at Ron and Hermione. "Are these guests you wish to bring? Excellent! Shall we?" he asked, reaching for Harry and Hermione's elbows. Reluctantly, the three of them crowded into his bony reach. There was a brief dark blur as the ceiling changed. It took a while for Harry to notice they had arrived; they were in a church, he realised, gazing into the dim and finally spotting a ceiling. It was a disused church, he decided, looking about him, but not absolutely in ruins. A couple of the stained glass windows were cracked, everything was dusty, and there were little showers of stone here and there.

Death strode down the aisle. Harry looked to see if the bride was there. She wasn't, and he thought the church was empty apart from them until he heard a voice at the front say "Hello, Death, hello!"

Ron nudged him and pointed at the front. Harry saw a man in a yellow suit rise up from the pew to slap Death on the shoulder. Hermione set off towards them and Harry and Ron arrived in time to hear her say, "Hello, I'm Hermione. And you are?"

He seemed at a loss; glancing from her face to Death. Death gave no indication that Harry could discern, and the man said quickly, "Well, now, I don't think that matters." He smiled and stuck his hand out for Harry and Ron, who didn't bother to give him their own names. The man sat down again and Harry, Ron and Hermione sat down in the pew behind him, Death hovering at the head of the aisle. Yellow Suit's feet stuck out into the aisle and Harry saw he was hearing curly-toed red and yellow slippers.

"Let us hope the bride has not come to her senses and run away," said Yellow Suit, just as Harry was hoping that this had occurred. He was beginning to hope in earnest when the doors at the far end burst open and there appeared a man with a jackal's head, followed by Cecily Leaven and a slightly plump blonde girl, who looked more agitated than her companions.

The jackal-headed man and Cecily came up the aisle, the blonde girl following, taking time to look anxiously about her.

"We went to the wrong church!" said the jackal-headed man. He had a deep, rather sombre voice at odds with his cheerful tone. "I only realised when people came in to prepare for another wedding."

"You didn't worry, did you?" asked Cecily. She looked confident and suitably glowing in a very simple white dress. She looked quite a lot how she did on magazine covers.

"Not much," said Death.

"Ah, you should have run while you had the chance," said Yellow Suit.

"And now we can begin," said Jackal Head.

Death and Cecily both went to stand shoulder to shoulder, and stood up straight. Jackal Head closed his eyes and reached out his hands to the company for a moment. Then he began to recite a ceremony. Much of it was not in English and Harry soon stopped listening even though he was still watching them all intently. The blonde girl was perched on the edge of their pew, gazing around, and she occasionally gave Harry, Hermione and Ron a keen glance, wondering who and what they might be.

After twenty minutes or so, Jackal Head said, "I now pronounce you Death and mortal wife," and seemed to have finished. Cecily turned and kissed Death's off-white cheekbone and the blonde girl stood up with a start and took a packet out of her pocket. Smiling in an astonished sort of way, she threw confetti over the pair. Hermione uncertainly began to clap just as Yellow Suit cheered, and Harry and Ron followed her in a little flurry of clapping.

Death grasped Cecily's hands and stepped back, looking over at Harry. "Now, Mr. Potter. You and I shall absent ourselves for a brief while so that I may show you a thing or two. Hold on to my sleeve." Harry did so, feeling embarrassed at his squeamishness. "Try to pay remember where I'm taking you. It's to the _left_," said Death, and with that he and Harry left the scene. A moment later, Harry realised they were in fact still there, only no one seemed to see them.

"This is my own level of time; hardly anyone else has it," said Death. "Which is why no one can see us. Do you think you could get here by yourself?" Then they were back in the church proper.

"That was quick," said Ron.

"Ah, we haven't begun yet," said Death.

It took a while for Harry to get into that other timespace. He kept thinking it had to be asd simple as the answer to his Platform 9 and ¾ quandary, but it wasn't quite. He could only do it by thinking very hard about what it had felt like when Death took him there, and focusing determinedly on the left. He made everyone laugh by turning sharply and marching in that direction until he disappeared.

"Now you have mastered that we can make a move," said Death. Out of nowhere he produced a massive roll of parchment. He shook it out and it curled and cascaded down to the floor.

"Oh, it's names," said Harry, picking up a section. All the names he could see were foreign. The scale of it was hard to comprehend. "Is this everyone 'til the end or just what I've got to deal with?"

"I'm afraid I shan't tell you that. What we do now is, we look at the name at the top of the list and we reach them by making for the left again. Once you're in this timespace. Understand?"

Harry didn't, but he set off for the left anyway. Harry passed Yellow Suit just as he reached inside a pocket and pulled out a bottle of champagne. They left to the resounding pop of the cork.

*

Harry returned feeling anxious and perturbed. The rest of the company was to be found dancing a kind of ring-a-rosy up and down the aisle. Ron, Hermione and Cecily's friend seemed a little more comfortable in the situation than before. Cecily looked as carefree as her husband's friends.

"I'm sure you can manage now," said Death. "I need to tell you about hours. It is arranged that I go into my time and work from nine to five. It works out at what is considered the acceptable rate for humans to die – time _is_ complicated – so it's fairly important you stick to it."

"Oh, that's not too bad!" said Harry. "I could even do a little Auror work!"

"What you do in your free time is your own affair. Today you will have to bear in mind that I have taken the morning off and you will have to make up the hours," said Death.

"Oh. Right," said Harry.

Death paused, seeming strangely keyed up. "Are you romantically involved at all?" he inquired, his tone try-hard casual.

"No."

"What a shame. Surely you'd be happier? Well, never mind, loneliness suits some people, doesn't it? It is only my desire to spread my own happiness."

Harry was left with the impression of a coy smirk as Death went to join the ring-a-rosy. Ron held out his hand as they cavorted towards him. Harry linked hands with him and Cecily ad began to kick up his feet with the others. It occurred to him that this might be the Danse Macabre.

Then Death, Yellow Suit and Jackal Head wanted to catch up with each other while Cecily showed a lively interest. Hermione pulled Harry off to the back of the church.

"What happened? What do you have to do?"

"I didn't learn that much more about death. There's a ship. Okay, to start with, when people are nearly dying, their sprit is slightly outside their bodies instead of being neatly inside. We went to this old Chinese woman in a hospital and I could see a transparent version of her sort of beside herself. Then Death made as if he was beheading her with his scythe. It didn't actually go through her body or soul but it disconnected the two. Then you walk around anti-clockwise for a bit – I'm sure nothing will happen when I do it by myself; I thought the system would be more _definite_ \-- and then you get to the edge of a huge crowd people queuing to get on board this massive ship. I couldn't see if it was on the sea or not; I could hardly see the edges and the sails went up as far as I could see – they were all different colours."

"Were the people allowed on the ship?" asked Ron.

"Yes, there was a crowd on the gangway but it was moving very slowly. Anyway, we left the woman there and we went clockwise and left, and we got back here. So it seems simple enough, really."

"I'm sure you'll be fine, Harry," said Hermione.

"You've pulled off much more difficult stuff just in the Aurors," said Ron.

"I just want to get started now, especially as I've got to make up for his morning off," said Harry.

Death took his own sweet time, as far as Harry could see. Cecily's friend looked ready for it to be over, too, but they were wary of engaging her in conversation what with the wizarding thing. Harry thought Hermione wouldn't be able to resist a Confundus if she got close enough for her tendency to take responsibility for people to kick in.

But at last, "I must now hand over my scythe. May I say that I _am_ grateful to you, and I am sure you will acquit yourself handsomely," said Death, proffering the scythe.

His bride was at the door of the church with her friend, reminding her of train times. Death stood by and regarded Harry with that odd air of suppressed excitement while Cecily, Yellow Suit and Jackal Head gathered around him. Then the four of them faded away, with a "Cheerio!" from Yellow Suit.

That left Harry, Hermione and Ron. Now that it was soon to be abandoned altogether, the church seemed very sad and empty.

"I'll be alright now," said Harry.

"I'm sure you will be," said Hermione.

"You'll come and see us when you've finished, yeah?" said Ron.

"Yeah," said Harry.

Smiling in a repentant sort of way, Ron and Hermione Disapparated. Harry picked up the mass of parchment left on a pew and looked for the name at the top. He had a sudden flash of blond hair in his mind before he had even processed that name on the top. Draco Malfoy. Oh.

Nice and unfair, giving him someone he knew to start off with. Like Malfoy wouldn't make himself difficult. And well, then he'd be dead once Harry had done his job. What was Malfoy doing to get himself killed at the age of twenty-eight, anyway? Harry frowned and hesitated and checked the name. Still uncertain and indignant, he turned to his left and marched. Straight into the foot of a bed.

"_Shit_," said Harry, and looked around him at once. He felt his eyes widen when they found Draco Malfoy. Lots of flushed skin. Draco was spread across the bed naked, legs apart, cock red and hard, toes wriggling. Harry wrenched his eyes away from Draco's dark blond pubic hair to his face. His eyes were a little glassy and set, Harry was glad to see, at a point behind Harry.

Harry's hand was sweaty around the scythe. It seemed inappropriate to cut him down before he'd even _come_. And, Harry noticed in increasing alarm, he was all in one piece. No transparent soul to separate from the body.

"Potter," said Draco, beckoning with his hand. Harry nearly jumped out of his skin, then swivelled round as he felt someone moving past him. Then he could do nothing but gape as he realised there was a naked _him_ in the room. Harry looked him up and down. No, not just someone bearing a passing resemblance to him, _him_. Had he entered some parallel world or time by mistake?

"Are you ready?" asked the other Harry, reaching for a wand on the bedside table. His manner didn't seem quite Harry, and Harry suddenly exclaimed, "Polyjuice!" out loud. His gaze returned to Draco. He almost wanted to interrogate him. Why the hell was Draco Malfoy having sexual relations with a Polyjuice Harry?

"Yes," said Draco. "Do it."

The Polyjuice Harry threw his head back dramatically and shot off a spell Harry didn't recognise. Draco went into the throes of orgasm. He paddled his feet and shook his head from one side to the other. His cock jerked and Harry stepped back to avoid the white spurt of come. Draco groaned and his eyes rolled up in his head. Harry suddenly guessed that this must be the Little Death, the illegal sexual charm that gave an orgasm near death in its intensity. This seemed verified when Draco went very still.

Then a translucent Draco sat up in the midst of the corporeal Draco, looking bleary. He spotted Harry. He screamed and looked from Harry to the other Harry, studying Draco with mild concern.

"You're real, aren't you?" said Draco, trying and failing to pull the cover over himself. "Why have you got a scythe? What's happening? My body isn't right. He can't see us, can he?"

"I think maybe the Little Death went wrong," said Harry. What a depressing job.

Draco put his hands over his face and rocked backwards and forwards a little. "I don't want to die. Please – and why are you here, anyway?"

"Well, you won't like it," said Harry, "And I promise it wasn't my idea for some power trip or something, but I'm standing in for Death."

"You're going to kill me? And how long has he been gone? Is he going to come back? Do you mean everyone just has _you_?" demanded Draco, recoiling irritable as the Polyjuice Harry climbed on the bed and gently slapped the unconscious Draco's cheek.

"He's gone off on his honeymoon. He _said_ he'd come back in a few weeks." Harry paused. "You're my first one."

Draco threw himself unsteadily off the bed as his escort started shaking his body and shouting his name. Dropping down by Harry's feet, he said, "You can let me go, can't you? Nobody would know – I could run away and get a new name if you wanted."

Everything in Harry found it natural to let him go. But, "No one _wants_ to die. I can't agree – well, sort of agree – to do the job, and then not kill anyone who doesn't want me to. I don't want to, but you're the first one. I might as well give it up now and have no one die for God knows how long if—"

"Let me be _different_. I don't do anything, I haven't done anything special and I was always going to, since I was little. I'm twenty-eight, and I've managed without a job since I left school. I can't _never_ prove myself, can't you see how terrible it is? You ought to _owe_ me something, I was supposed to do something wonderful in the war, whatever side I was on, but everything turned out all wrong. You can't do this to me, I need a chance – can't he fucking stop that?" Draco's babble turned sharp as he glared at Polyjuice Harry, now trying different spells on Draco's body so that it kept floundering like a fish on a hook, but remained unconscious.

Harry felt paralysed by indecision. He looked at Draco's pale, lifeless body. He thought of all the near escapes from death he had had himself. It couldn't be such a disaster to let him live, just one person. He did know him, and it was unlikely he would have to deal with anyone else he knew while he was on the job.

"Do you really, really want to live?" asked Harry.

"_Really_ I do, I swear."

"Well," said Harry, pushing Draco's transparent shoulders, "I don't even know if you can get back in your body."

Draco hovered above his body, trying to line himself up with it. Harry took a deep breath and shoved him hard. And then there was only one Draco.

"Don't go, I want to talk to you," he yelled, even before he opened his eyes. Harry was a little taken aback to see that there was a dark halo around his head, as if the air had been bruised and compressed. He stretched his hand out in trepidation and passed a finger through the edge. He thought the air was perhaps a little chill, but it seemed that he had not actually created a black hole or the like.

"I'm here," said Polyjuice Harry. "You gave me such a shock, I don't know what happened."

"I didn't mean _you_," Draco snarled. "And what do you mean, I gave you a shock? You _killed_ me, you stupid fucking bastard, I could do you for manslaughter at least."

"It obviously wasn't that serious. And like you could press charges."

"Did I say I was going to press charges? I'm even going to pay you. And then you're going to get out," said Draco, breathing heavily.

The escort took the money, got dressed, and stood trying to compose himself before Disapparating with one last look at the black halo around Draco's head.

"I think I ought to get on," said Harry.

"I've thought," said Draco, scrambling into his robes. "I want to come with you. I can help, I could carry the list for you while you worry about the scythe. Let me just cross my name out; I don't suppose I can cut the top part off?"

"Just leave it crossed out. And no, I mean, it would be nice to have someone to help, but I can manage without. Can't I just leave you to get on with your life?" Harry was beginning to feel unpleasantly clung to. He wondered again why, exactly, Draco wanted to have a sexual partner Polyjuiced to look like Harry.

"I can offer moral support. If other people beg you, I can help you brush them off. Look, I can be just as good as you. You're not the only person in the world who can do this, so don't start again with all your special chosen stuff." Draco was all flushed again in his agitation; anger and excitement and relief all mixed.

Harry wondered if Draco just wanted to follow him about. Then he thought maybe he wanted a replay of those occasions when Draco ran away and Harry didn't. To prove himself. To be chosen and tried too. Draco felt a kind of fascinated distaste for Draco, who had been so desperate since he arrived. He felt tempted to give Draco what he wanted and see what happened.

"Well, alright. Alright, we can do it together. For a while," said Harry, regretting it as the words formed in his mouth.

"Really?" said Draco, his face brightening. "Really? Well, let's go then!"

"Okay. Okay." Harry grabbed Draco's arm. "Just walk this way with me – can you make that chair get out of the way? – and let me see the list – and we'll see what happens."

*

In the evening, after Harry guessed the day's work was about done, they ended up back at his flat. Harry leaned on the scythe in exhaustion.

"I don't think that went too badly," said Draco. "It got pretty tedious after a while, but nothing went wrong."

"I kept expecting it to," said Harry. "You've made me paranoid; I kept expecting them to refuse to come with us. And it's surprising how tiring it is. I'm almost hoping Death has a nice time on his honeymoon. Would you like a Firewhiskey?"

Draco would. He sat down on the sofa and began to cast a familiar snotty glance around him. He caught himself and adjusted his expression to something more mature and friendly.

"I don't suppose you'd like to talk about what the _first_ me was doing in your bedroom?" said Harry, handing Draco his drink. He wasn't sure he wanted to talk about it himself but it was such a stupendously embarrassing thing to have on Draco it seemed odd not to use it a little.

"No, actually, I wouldn't," said Draco, and took several fierce gulps of Firewhiskey. He had become a little more subdued over the course of the day, lost his glad-to-be-alive-again look to something more ruffled and embarrassed.

"You can imagine I was a bit taken aback," Harry persisted meanly.

"I daresay you'd be taken aback if you turned up unannounced in a lot of people's bedrooms," said Draco. "There's no need to be _prurient_."

"It's just that I never knew you were so taken with me," said Harry.

"I'm – people have all kinds of strange tastes they keep separate from their real lives. It doesn't mean anything," said Draco, glaring over his glass at Harry.

"I suppose I'll let it drop."

"At least now we know what happens when you die. Some of it." Draco had indeed seemed quite gratified. Harry wondered if part of his motive for involving himself in this was determination not to allow Harry this knowledge to himself, rather like Dudley pushing him away from the keyhole. Perhaps the war had left him with a more piquant interest, too.

"Lots of waiting, apparently," said Harry.

"But then you set sail! Like running away to sea."

"That aura round your head's a bit of a worry," said harry.

"Oh, I'm sure I can pass it off if anyone asks," said Draco. He swallowed the rest of his Firewhiskey. "I'll leave you to your evening. Can I use your fireplace? I'll get here for nine, yes? Bye, then," he said, disappearing into the flames.

Harry stared after him. He remembered he was to see Ron and Hermione, and wondered whether he could keep the Draco stuff to himself. It seemed simpler, but not really practicable. Then he considered telling them _everything_, and on further consideration decided he didn't really want to shout about being Draco Malfoy's wank fantasy.

*

They stumbled on for a couple of weeks. Harry tried to be cheerful and professional with the dead, like a hospital nurse. Draco swung between being loudly gloomy and sure it was all going to go wrong and seeming enlivened and excited simply to be there. With the dead he liked to come across as impressive and sepulchral. The black halo helped. Harry thought the years had improved Draco – he wasn't being _mean_ or abusing his authority – but he did seem to think it a job well done when the dead looked at him all cowed.

Then they did get it all wrong, or, strictly speaking, Draco did.

*

"Next name?" Harry asked.

"Samuel Kisserly," said Draco, and off they went. They arrived in a graveyard, which was appropriate in one way but not in another. There was no one to be seen above ground.

"Samuel Kisserly!" Draco yelled. As if in reply, a racket set up in a nearby tomb, the clashing of symbols and roaring. They both stood and stared, electrified. Harry stood on tiptoe to crane at the name on the tomb – Samuel Kisserly. Harry felt his back hollow as if something had yanked his posture up by the shoulder blades.

Draco found his wand, dropped it, tried "Muffliato," and dropped it again. He was rewarded by the sound of scraping stone and he and Harry lost their heads and simply screamed. As they pointed out to each other later, the tension of the job was to blame. Neither the fear that something would break out of the tomb nor the desire to do anything if only that row would cease would have had such an effect alone.

The next moment the graveyard erupted into people. They turned out to be Ministry officials, most dressed either in red, for the Department of Emergencies, or purple, for the Department of Mysteries. Harry spotted an Auror, Terry Boot, too. Harry and Draco were furiously relegated to the street by, to Harry's indignation, Terry Boot.

"Obviously," said Draco, "The list was wrong. Samuel Kisserly is already dead."

"Yes, but I think it was your yelling that set him off," said Harry. Draco set his mouth and crossed his arms.

Eventually an Unspeakable came over to them. "The disturbance has been dealt with," he said.

"What happened?" asked Harry.

"I am not at liberty to divulge the details," said the Unspeakable.

"But we _did_ it," said Draco.

"The Ministry has classified it as secret. I am afraid I can't help you." The Unspeakable closed his mouth up tight. Harry found his face intensely annoying.

"We're fucking _Death_," Harry argued. "We're the fundamental mystery of the world, you can't patronise us."

"We might need to know for another time," said Draco.

"Actually, why it happened is what we're not so clear on. I imagine it has something to do with the descendent of Samuel Kisserly, sharing the same name. The descendent is the one you need to dispatch, and may I suggest that speed is of the essence?"

"Oh. So we need to try again," said Harry.

Feeling some trepidation, off they went. They found themselves in a corridor at the Ministry for Magic, at the edge of a crowd of people.

"Ah, it's Death!" someone exclaimed. The crowd parted and Harry saw an unconscious body on the floor. No transparent soul to be seen, though.

"Has he died all by himself?" asked Harry.

"Not exactly," was the reply, as Draco clutched his arm. Harry saw something gleaming pass the end of the corridor.

"Samuel, Death's arrived!" somebody yelled, and the gleam turned back, and proved to be the soul missing from the man on the floor.

"Where? I'm not going, anyway," said Samuel, voice querulous.

"There's no need to be frightened, Samuel. It's all part of the scheme of life. It's like going on a great voyage," said Harry.

"No. I don't need to live or die if I can stay like this. And what do you mean, Death? You're Harry Potter, I'm not going anywhere with you."

"I just look like him," Harry said cravenly.

Samuel ignored him. He shouted, "I am truly _free_!" and wheeled off down the corridor.

"He was planning to blow up the Ministry," said Kingsley, who had suddenly joined the group. "He was stopped by an Avada Kedavra from a hit wizard. Then it took you a while to get here. He's been streaking about without his body all over the building in a panic."

"Sorry we messed up," said Draco. Harry had noticed Draco had learned the lesson that it was expedient to admit faults and be humble.

"Only to be expected. To be honest, I'm not at all sure you'll get him to go with you. Don't waste too much of your time on him; the Ministry can probably deal with him if we have to."

Harry and Draco managed to catch up with Samuel Kisserly; he was in the Atrium, jumping in the Floo fireplaces whenever anyone tried to use them, which dreadfully startled incomers.

"We're going now," said Harry. "You might not get another chance to die properly.

"Not interested," said Samuel.

"Do you dare to defy Death?" asked Draco with that pompous obnoxiousness that was half put on, half not.

"Of course I dare, I'm an anarchist. I _nearly_ blew the whole system to smithereens. If I can be the Peeves of the Ministry, that will be something."

"Good luck being Peeves without a body," said Harry. Samuel's crestfallen face proved his point.

*

Harry thought on the whole, the mishap had been lived down well enough. They got through their working day as normal and Harry had almost forgotten about it by the time he saw Hermione in the evening.

"My afternoon was disrupted by all the palaver," she said. "I must say I wish you – it had gone better. Though I know human error is only to be expected; that's what we made such a fuss about in the first place."

"When you think about it, it must happen all the time," Harry argued. "There are loads of ghosts."

"Well, yes, but I can't imagine it's common to wait nearly an hour for Death to turn up. Death and taxes," said Hermione.

*

The next week was embarrassing. Hermione and Harry's other friends at the Ministry were full of reports on Samuel Kisserly's behaviour. Increasingly unstable, apparently. He had realised that not having a body did indeed limit his potential for distraction, but was still full of bitter defiance. Harry and Draco had hoped they would not hear much more of him, but it looked as if he was to be a constant reproach.

Also, their streak of beginners' luck began to seem like what it was. Their consciousness of having slipped up once told against them. They accidentally skipped the name of someone in Africa and only realised hours later. When they got there, the soul had wandered off. Harry and Draco dithered about but eventually decided to leave them to it.

"We can come back and look again another time," said Draco. "We can always tell Death about it, and he can sort it out if it's important."

Harry felt chilled at the thought of a soul wandering around lost, but he remembered his own argument that this must happen all the time. There wasn't anything they could do no, anyway.

*

The next morning Harry and Draco were in Harry's flat while Harry finished his breakfast. They were trying to brace themselves for the day ahead.

Draco had said, "I've arrived a little early just so I don't have to start as soon as I get here," and slouched moodily on the arm of the sofa, breathing deeply. Harry had his back turned to charm his bowl to wash itself up when Draco made a peculiar "Ahh!" sound.

Harry turned in time to see Samuel's head sticking through his closed front door, peering in with a sharp expression. Then he sidled in with own, triumphant "Ahh!" sound.

"I know all about what's happening with you and Death," he said. "I hear everything; the Ministry has no secrets from me now."

"Samuel, don't you want to just go where everyone goes?" Harry asked.

"Of course I don't, I'm not everyone else," said Samuel.

"No, you're terribly special and unique," Draco snarled. "What do you want? Go away."

"I think you're the ones who think you're special. I think it's outrageous Harry Potter is allowed to play at Death because he's such a hero. I think everyone should know about this."

"It's _not_ because of that," said Harry.

"No one cares what you think. _I_ think you ought to get out."

"You can't make me," said Samuel, flinging himself onto the sofa.

"Shall we go, Draco?" said Harry.

Draco put his nose in the air and linked arms with Harry as they marched off towards the wall. At the last second Samuel rushed after them, flinging his chilly, insubstantial arms around their shoulders.

They came to a halt, noses inches from Harry's wall, in that different timespace.

"You are so annoying. You're like Peeves' poor relation who begs on the street," said Draco.

"You can rail against me but I can go anywhere I like," said Samuel.

"And we can ignore you," Harry said.

[]()

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	2. Chapter 2

  
  
  
  
  


**Entry tags:**

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[fic](http://cleodoxa.livejournal.com/tag/fic), [hp](http://cleodoxa.livejournal.com/tag/hp), [incarnate](http://cleodoxa.livejournal.com/tag/incarnate)  
  
  
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They got on with things, but Samuel proved gallingly hard to ignore. He kept swooping around, getting in the faces of the just-dead. He yelled things like, "Don't go with these people, they have no right, they are _not_ Death. They will do things to you!" The dead shrunk both from him and from Harry and Draco in uncertain, disoriented panic. Harry felt terribly guilty. He tried to reassure them but Samuel's yelling made his own words seem like a cunning counterpoint. He thought at first it was lucky they had not yet had an English speaker, but then he decided the yelling and attempts at being soothing being incomprehensible alike were what was so bewildering. Surely Death was universal?

"I think we should go back to mine and find a translations charm," said Harry.

"Yes. I wouldn't have wanted this to happen to _me_," said Draco.

"You're not supposed to be happy about dying," said Samuel.

Back at Harry's flat they leafed through his spellbooks and found something suitable pretty quickly.

"Right," said Harry, and put his wand first in his own mouth, saying "Antibabelonia" through his teeth, and then in Draco's. "Now we can explain him, and say to take no notice."

Draco leaned forwards aggressively and put his nose almost through Samuel's. "We'll tell them you're an insubordinate who isn't allowed to leave us because we're going to hand him over to Death when he gets back. Who will _not_ be happy with you."

"Nah," said Samuel.

They returned to their duties and Draco proceeded to explain the insubordinate stuff to everyone. He rested his hand just above Samuel's insubstantial shoulder in a restraining sort of way. Samuel grinned and said, untranslated, "They'll never take me alive, though!" The dead did not enjoy any of it, and hurried off to queue for the great ship while they still could.

It was a mercy the strange time ratio meant they dealt with relatively few British deceased, because Samuel had quite a high success rate with convincing them not to go with Harry and Draco.

"But you're not _proper_!" they wailed, ignorant of who Harry was, all so far being Muggles, but assured by Samuel there was no reason he should be allowed to play Death just because he was Harry Potter. "I don't know if I can trust you. I think I'll wait until the real Death comes along.

So by the end of that week Harry had to put down on the report sheet the Ministry had given him that they had three new ghosts, that Samuel wouldn't leave them alone, and that Harry had held things up for several hours on Thursday because he couldn't find the scythe.

"They'll blame it all on me, you know. Apart from you losing the scythe, probably," Draco said, looking slumped and woebegone. "They probably won't let me do it anymore."

"Oh, I wouldn't want to do it by myself," said Harry in alarm. "And really, the things going wrong are just things _happening_. Maybe we're not even doing worse than Death, and it's only to be expected."

"Ye-e-es," said Draco. Only like I – well, like I said that time, I'd like to do something that people really have to acknowledge. I know it's everything you hated about me, but I just want to be better than everybody else in _something_. Is that so bad?"

Harry couldn't help laughing. "I don't suppose it would help to go over the times I didn't beat you at Quidditch? Look on the bright side, we can't help being good at being mortal people playing Death, because we're the only ones."

"Well, that's what I thought," said Draco. "I don't know why I'm telling you this, but it's such a long time since I felt I was really _it_, since I really cared about something, felt I had anything to offer. It's like how I stopped caring about Quidditch in sixth year. I stopped caring about the competition, and I suppose you'd say it's not _about_ the competition, but that knocked me out of it and I feel disqualified. People generally know of me and they don't like me and it makes everything very difficult."

"I'm not completely sure what you're saying," said Harry. "But I think you should just do whatever you want to do without worrying about ... competition. I'm sure you're capable."

"Well, of course I always got good marks at school and everything," said Draco. "But no one will let me forget my past and it's such a burden."

Harry was inclined to suggest burdens that would be heavier, but he said, "You can't hold out for universal popularity," thinking of Dumbledore and Hagrid. He found Draco almost endearing in the undisguisable pettiness of his personality. Self doubting and self-aggrandising, not only all gong and no dinner but gong and a rude demand for dinner. A little reminiscent of a baby, face screwed up in simple outrage, bawling its lungs out but producing only a tinny little mewl. Harry though Draco was _trying_ to be a better person, but had no idea how to go about it.

Draco pursed his lips and seemed to consider. "Talking of Quidditch," he said, "I think we rather enjoyed our rivalry, don't you? Funny how we cared so much; you'd have though we'd just leave each other alone. But we kept judging ourselves by the other. As things turned out, I suppose it was your apprenticeship battle against the dark. And then you outgrew me," Draco said sadly. "Funny it was that way round, me being fair and you dark," he added.

Harry felt uncomfortably privy to one of Draco's fantasies. His mind wandered to the incident of the Polyjuiced prostitute. To distract himself, he considered this epic schooldays rivalry. "Yes," he said, slightly surprised. "I suppose I was all, "What will Malfoy do, oh that will show him." Looking to see what you were up to and so on." It seemed a little odd in retrospect that he had been most obsessed with this enmity in sixth year. Draco had possibly been more worried about Voldemort than he was.

"Funny how an enmity shapes your memories," said Draco, looking at his fingers. "Almost like a friendship."

Harry rolled his eyes. "Suppose so, yes," he said. Might as well be kind, he told himself.

"So, you think I should stop caring about what other people think?" said Draco.

"Definitely. I'm sure you can do whatever you want. I know you were always convinced I wanted it, but before you complain what a burden your past is, think about me. You've just got to get on with your life."

Draco nodded his head from side to side in easier-said-than-done agreement. After a pause, he said, "Shall we talk about you? Are you with anyone? The papers can never make up their minds."

"Well—" Harry thought Draco had a nerve for asking, and wondered if he should answer. "I haven't really settled with anyone since Ginny. Partly because that's just how it turned out, partly because of the terrible burden of my past and, well, fame."

Draco looked as if he was searching for a polite way to ask more. "Perhaps you never got over Weasley's sister," he said.

"Maybe. It took a while to get used to it. That was to do with both the fame _and_ my past. She wanted someone more flawed, she said, someone she felt more comfortable criticising. Of course, I can do flawed brilliantly, no one needs to go elsewhere if they like flawed, but... And there _was_ a lot of pressure on her to prove she was _good_ enough for me. I hated that." Harry remembered all those reasons he understood without understanding why they had to matter. "And some of the people after her were male, as I'm sure you've heard. What about you? Anyone? Besides ..." he couldn't resist adding significantly.

Draco flushed and looked as if on the verge of telling Harry to shut up. "No. Like you, I suppose; I haven't really settled with anyone. I had an on-off think with Theodore Nott that was a bit of a disaster. Not that I really care. I mean, who wants to be all domestic and settled at twenty-eight? I'm sure you're the same."

"Mmm," said Harry. He thought of his parents, trying to be domestic and settled with their baby in a war, years younger than he was now. He thought of the warmth and happiness they seemed to have managed to create together, from his scant knowledge of that brief time. Silence fell and Harry thought this was a good time to return to the report sheet.

"Do you want to sign here, then at least it's done," he said, pushing the parchment and quill at him. "I really don't think anyone will be thinking what a disaster you are. It's not like you _were_ a disaster and they're too busy worrying about potential massive catastrophe to care about little things going wrong."

*

Over the next few days Harry hoped this held true. Samuel made everything several times more tiresome. Harry thought most of his irritation resided in the fact that he could not achieve any great act of disruption for all his efforts. Only somehow he did not become less aggravating when his efforts to stir up the dead souls of Britain began to constitute significant disruption in itself.

The sudden increase in the ghost population was easy for everybody to ignore at first, and gradually became less so. Hermione and a lot of other people at the Ministry pointedly drew their attention to articles in Muggle newspapers. Loving ectoplasmic embraces, haunting and cars swerving to avoid apparitions in the road.

"But you weren't paying attention to all those stories that were probably there before Death went away," said Draco, who was being a little more bolshie now with the Ministry officials.

Harry thought it was probably a good sign when Samuel disappeared intermittently. Then it turned out he was trying to organise the ghosts. They were sent off to houses with haunted reputations, where their presence was particularly likely to be looked for and noticed. Several crowds of people had mass uncanny experiences, little knowing they were surrounded by a ring of the dead, ghosts running among the crowd and trough their bodies. Automatic writing was a great favourite and the Ministry had to keep Confunding Muggles who scribbled stuff about wizards. People who could hear the dead were subjected to a great racket.

Samuel recruited two ghosts in particular; an old man and an old woman from some accident at a retirement home. Obstinate and bitter, they helped to instruct the other newly dead in the ways of protest. The Muggles began, after a while, to notice what a lot of paranormal experiences were being reported, and were sadly at a loss for a credible theory.

"Of course, ghosts do have a fascinating social structure," said Hermione. "But this really isn't normal.

*

Harry had stopped thinking of his job in terms of hustling everyone off to the right place and started thinking of it in terms of being there if people _wanted_ to avail themselves of the opportunity. He stopped resenting the time he was taking off work, and the presence of anxiety instead of discomfort. For some reason, after that conversation with Draco, Harry felt an odd pleasure in the strangeness of the situation – at least, the strangeness of being in it with Draco Malfoy, of all people – instead of that "why me _again_?" resentment. He stopped feeling so responsible.

Or at least, generally he did. He felt guilt alright when he was faced with the disturbance among Muggles, imagined the fear and harassment the plague of ghosts was bringing.

"I don't like it. It reminds me a little of when Voldemort was taking over," said Harry.

Draco's face looked as if it was registering an insult, as it always did at the mention of Voldemort. Harry had to remind himself that the name probably did often herald angry inquisition into his Death Eater past, and that it probably was a little wearing. No sooner did his face clear than it darkened again.

"I hate ghosts," he said.

"Oh yes," said Harry. "I remember the Shrieking Shack for a start."

Draco scowled, then returned to the unwontedly smug, buoyed expression his face had worn since, Harry suspected, his attempt at encouragement. Harry had been almost alarmed by the effect; Draco hadn't done anything particularly constructive so far as Harry could tell, but he was full of a bright agitation that rivalled Hermione when she was intent on something, Harry had a creeping feeling that Draco was intent on him. He kept looking Harry long and hard in the eyes as if trying to communicate telepathically. He dropped casual praise into the conversation.

Harry was used to people appropriating them for the story of their lives, and he was used to gritting his teeth and trying to convince them he was a real person. He wasn't quite sure he wanted Draco to know that; he was weirdly unable to imagine how things would be if Draco knew Harry. If Draco was a real person to him instead of the stone in his shoe.

"It's so galling to believe _we're_ less convincing than Samuel," said Draco, bouncing his leg.

"It probably doesn't give them much confidence in us that we can't get Samuel to leave us alone," said Harry. He was a little breathless; he was expecting Draco to lean forward and pres against him, try to kiss him at any moment. If Draco was going to do it, he wished he'd get it over with. He tried to imagine pushing his thin shoulder, pushing Draco away from him with his lips warm on Harry's mouth.

"I wish it was still legal to Banish ghosts," Draco said. "Maybe they'd make an exception for us."

"You can only Banish them from places, anyway, not people, I remember that," said Harry. "We couldn't make him leave us alone, and it's not like we could Banish him from all the places people die in,"

Draco looked thoughtful. "I don't think we _could_ convince Samuel of anything now. Now he's got all this trouble going, he's enjoying the power far too much."

"Yes, maybe we could have tried harder at the beginning." Harry looked at his watch. "It's not that late but I'm tired; I think I'm going to—"

Draco waved his hand impatiently and kissed him. It was just a short closed mouth kiss. Then they were nose to nose, waiting. Draco's lips were slightly open and Harry could feel his warm, quick breath on his lips. It seems like simple disappointment to push Draco away. Harry opened his mouth and kissed Draco properly. He could feel Draco grinning. It was surprisingly easy to get lost in the kiss. Harry pressed against Draco, rearranging his limbs to make it easier. He brushed Draco's cock with his leg; it was hard ad he became more conscious of his own cock, pressing against his flies.

Harry made up his mind and pulled at Draco's robes to get at the trousers he wore underneath.

"Can you take them off?" he said. Draco struggled out of his robes, but then hesitated on the verge of flinging them away behind him. He shrank also from folding them at a time like this, and compromised by slinging them loosely over the arm of the sofa. His hands hovered by his undershirt and longer at the waistband of trousers, having gathered that they were to come off but unwilling to seem too eager.

Harry rested his hand on Draco's stomach, under the fabric of his undershirt, feeling the heat of his skin and the slightly rough down of hair. He looked up at Draco, face deliberately solemn. Draco stared back in bemusement, shifting his legs in suppressed impatience before Harry laughed and undid Draco's trousers.

He pulled his underwear down sharply and Draco's cock bounced out. Harry brought the palm of his hand up against the underside. Looking at it, repressed memories of That Incident flooded back. Draco so open and stripped back, wanting and almost having, squirming with pleasure. He put his hand over his own cock and squeezed it as he remembered. He wondered if Draco would be like that when he was actually with him. He leaned forwards and licked the damp head of Draco's cock, nervous and ready to make Draco _feel_.

Harry put his hand in his jeans without undoing the fly and endeavoured to wank though there was no room and his wrist hurt. He sucked Draco's cock and thought about how he'd missed this. He hadn't realised how much he needed to break his dry spell. Then he smiled around Draco's cock when he thought how aghast his younger self would be to see them. He looked up, startled, when Draco cupped his face with his hands. He looked solemnly intense, watching Harry's mouth around his cock.

Harry took his mouth away and reached up to jostle his shoulder. "You weren't this quiet last time you did this. Not as exciting with the real thing?"

"No ... _Yes_," said Draco.

"How about you stop looking like you can't believe I'm real? I'm not a religious experience."

Draco scowled at him, even as Harry returned to his cock, taking it further into his mouth than before. Then he gasped and slipped his fingers into Harry's hair. Harry put his palms flat against Draco's abdomen, thumbs under his cock as he sucked, trying to absorb himself in the rhythm of his mouth and his own hand on his cock while steadying Draco. Draco kept from thrusting his cock into Harry's mouth, but somehow that made him rise onto the balls of his feet and lean unsteadily backwards and forwards. He held tightly onto Harry's hair, tight enough to pull Harry's face closer to his cock and tight enough to feel enjoyably commanding without being painful.

The rhythm broke when Draco came in his mouth. Harry swallowed quickly without tasting, furiously pumping his cock until wet spilled over his fingers and he gasped with relief. Draco tucked himself back into his trousers and reached for his robes and wand. He performed a cleaning charm for Harry, his face still pink, looking at Harry with a shy, pleased smile. Harry felt himself smile back without meaning to as e brushed back damp strands of hair.

Then Draco hurriedly pulled his robes on, so that Harry felt it was awkward to sit there in just his jeans and did likewise.

"Well, that's over with," said Draco. "We won't need to carry on about it, just one quick thing."

"Oh yes," agreed Harry. "We don't want it to affect anything." He spoke partly to cut Draco off in case he tried to backtrack and partly because if Draco really wasn't bothered about it, he certainly needed to know that Harry wasn't bothered either.

Draco stood and waved his hand awkwardly, trying to articulate something. "And I can believe my luck perfectly well, you know. I think you're the one who thinks you're a religious experience." He paused. "No offense."

Harry rolled his eyes. "I think _you're_ the one who took offense. I was only saying. So ..."

"I'll be off now," said Draco. Harry raised his hand in farewell as he Disapparated.

*

"Are you not speaking?" asked Samuel's old woman ghostly cohort, left to shadow them by herself today.

Harry and Draco glanced at her, startled. Then they ignored her, which suited the one of the morning so far. Draco had not talked to Harry, and Harry feared some kind of scene if he tried to open up communication. So he got on with the dead, and Harry had to admit that though he was more anxious, things did go a little more smoothly with Draco hanging back instead of creating a flustered atmosphere.

Harry found himself looking at Draco sideways, though. He thought maybe he actually fancied him now. He kept liking his jaw, or his haircut or his hands, kept finding something else to look at.

When their lunch hour came, Draco rejected Harry's suggestion of the pub and insisted they go back to Harry's flat.

"I've been thinking, maybe I don't really need to be here. I'm sure you could manage by yourself."

Harry immediately felt panicked. "No, no, I don't want to do it all by myself. What happened to you wanting to be responsible and special and everything? Ducking out will only make you feel worse about yourself."

"I can find something else to do. It's all turning out a bit of a disaster. I'm not entirely thrilled with it going down in history, "In 2008 Death went AWOL, leaving Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy to fail miserably in his place." If I can keep my name out of it, you know?" But Draco's mouth curved, and Harry could see that he actually rather liked their names to be paired in incompetence. Possibly not even for any glow of being linked with Harry, but for the odd little appendix it made to the war.

Harry tried to think of something to say. He was surprised how much he didn't want Draco to leave him by himself, how lonely he felt at the thought of it. He hadn't really shared an enterprise with anyone for a long time. He liked the way Draco's dolour and gloom at the first sign of trouble spurred him to contrary cheerfulness and a show of mettle. He liked Draco's sporadic attempts at regeneration and positivity.

"Please stay," Harry said. "I want you to, and I _do_ think it's the right thing to do and you said you cared about that."

"There is that," said Draco. "It's just I'm not sure that you're not convinced I'm throwing myself at you, which is a little awkward for a working relationship. Of course, you always were convinced you were irresistible."

Harry rolled his eyes. "Don't be so oversensitive. I'll believe you can resist me if you say you can—"

"I can!"

Funny thing, thought Harry. I think I like you. But I'm not sure I should. "So really, there's no problem, is there?" he said.

"Well, no. I suppose." Draco looked as if he didn't know to be happy or not. Harry wondered if maybe they were both doing themselves out of what they really wanted.

Draco fidgeted his shoulders and stood up tall. "It's good we've had this talk. We may as well eat before we go back to work."

*

The next morning Harry was a little embarrassed when, before they got going, Draco tapped his shoulder.

"I always _try_ to be different from how I was when I was young, you know. Even if I don't always succeed."

"Those far off days when you were young. You weren't _that_ horrendous – well, I guess it depends what scale you use. I'd rather just forget about it, you don't need to _repent_ at me or anything," said Harry.

Draco almost laughed. "There you go again with the religious stuff. You give yourself away."

"Whatever. Ready to go?"

Draco seemed pensive that morning; kept looking at Harry as if he expected something new to have happened to Harry's face each time.

"Back in a moment," Draco said late morning, just as they were about to head off to collect another soul.

"What? Where—" said Harry, but Draco was gone. It was at least ten minutes before Draco reappeared.

He took hold of Harry's wrists saying, "Well come on, then," oddly impatient.

The next death was a man run over in France. They got there just as the car screeched to a halt and the man's body came to a rest on the road ahead. Draco waved his arm in an announcing kind of manner, as if they had come to save the day. Harry watched the man's body, and began to head across the road when he spotted the glimmer of white, hard to see in the sunlight. He looked sharply round; there was a man approaching, looking stealthy and unsure, about to cut across his path. Foolishly, Harry looked behind him. Yes, this man was looking at him, very much as if he could see him.

The man thumped Harry over the head while he was distracted. Harry gasped and tried to hold the man at arm's length while he searched for his wand. It wasn't here.

Draco pushed him out of the way. He and the strange man (who was not, at least, particularly burly) circled each other. Harry stepped forward as they raised their fists and the man sprang towards him. Draco stuck out his leg and the man tripped and fell to the ground. He scrambled up and threw himself at Draco's throat.

"Use your wand, Draco!" Harry shouted as the two of them span off balance and backed up against a lamppost. They both hit their heads. People gave them hardly a glance; they either stood near the dead man or looked over at him as they passed.

Finally they began to exchange blows, Draco backing the man slowly down the street, away from Harry. Harry kept trying to get to the man, either to hit him or demand an explanation, but Draco kept them firmly apart. Eventually Harry spared a nervous glance for the scene across the street. He thought the man's spiritual form was beginning to shift and look around, and surely an ambulance would arrive soon. They both seemed theatrical fighters, their movements unnecessarily large and their heads knocking back from blows that didn't look that forceful to Harry. The man's face was full of rage, Draco's full of determination.

_Oh_, said a voice in Harry's head, in many tones at once. He wants to protect me. Harry tried to remember how good a fighter Draco was. He'd had a temper, and viciousness, but then he'd been a coward, never wanted to face anything. Harry stood on the street, listening to Draco's feet slide on the pavement as he tried to press down on the man's shoulder and push him to the ground, and wanted to test Draco, see what was in him. He wanted, he didn't know, he wanted to rub himself, what he was, against Draco, so he could feel the static. He was curious to pool their resources; wouldn't mind emptying his pockets if Draco did the same, so he could see what they added when they added it together.

"Draco, why won't you use your wand?" Harry asked. Draco seemed to have the man pummelled into submission and was pushing him down the street.

"Go on, get out!" he said breathless, teeth bared. The man appeared to come to a decision and ran. Draco watched him disappear round the corner and brushed his hands off. "Over there!" he said impatiently to Harry, as they heard a faint siren and hurried across the street.

"We're here now," Draco said to the dead man.

"Sorry about the delay," said Harry.

"Are you medics?" asked someone crouched over him. The people gathered, having just watched them fighting on the other side of the road, looked at them with puzzled disapproval.

Harry and Draco looked at each other, eyes wide. They were still being seen, what _was_ this?"

"Just come with us, it'll be fine," said Draco, grasping for the dead man.

Harry spotted two ghosts on the other side of the road, creeping along among the people with exaggerated caution, tiptoeing in slow motion. He groaned. _Everywhere_.

"The Ministry is going to be so difficult about this," said Harry as they all disappeared from the midst of the startled group.

Once they'd got rid of the dead man, puzzled but dazedly compliant, they retired to Harry's flat for an emergency regroup. Harry sat on the arm of the sofa, angry and worried, waiting for Draco to turn around. Draco was looking at his damage in the mirror, restricted to a red, swollen stripe across his eye socket. Harry could just see the reflection of his face over his shoulder. He looked breathlessly accomplished. Slowly he reached into his pocket, and looked surprised at what he drew out.

"Oh," said Draco, looking at Harry. "I'm sorry, I've got your wand. I must have picked it up at some point." He poked one of the two wands in his hand at Harry. "Obviously it would have helped if I hadn't done that."

His lips thinned with a sad look of self-reproach. Harry thought it might be partly genuine, so he said, "You managed well enough without me or a wand. What worries me is everyone seeing us."

Draco healed his eye with his own wand and sat down, thoughtfully cupping his chin in his hands. "I'm not sure it isn't just a drop in the ocean with the way things are going. I did look up a few things about the spheres – you know, how there can be different timespaces – and I was quite surprised because it seems like the perceptions aspect is pretty easy to take on or off."

"But if it's been taken off ... a ghost couldn't do that, could they?" Harry's head felt fuzzy; he felt as if he was failing and didn't know how to stop. He wasn't used to not feeling capable.

He didn't pay much attention to Draco, who paced around the room with his wand, trying out this spell. There seemed something overexcited about him. Harry looked up as Draco grabbed his hand and took him outside to see if their visibility was safely muffled up again.

When they were back, Draco looked at Harry a little doubtfully. "You've gone very quiet. Do you want to get back to—"

Kingsley Shacklebolt Apparated into the room. "Sorry to interrupt," he said. "But there _might_ be another development. The Department of Mysteries is trying to get in touch with Death, beg him to come back."

"And how can they get in touch with him?" asked Harry.

"They've written a letter to him, and they've drowned it, burnt it, stabbed it, shot it, hung it, Avadra Kedavra, buried it ... It's an old charm, the idea that if you kill something it should end up where Death is."

"And what did the letter say? Asking him to come back?" asked Harry. He didn't know if he was angry or grateful.

"Yes. Of course, even if he gets it, there's no reason to suppose he'll cooperate. The last hours' events have only made us feel the need for a response to be greater," said Kingsley.

Harry sighed. "Would it be simpler if we just stopped until Death got back? Or put people back in their bodies for later, that would actually be simpler." Draco gave him a sharp look.

"No, no, apart from anything else, if Death wants you to do something it's best if you at least try to do it. We could do without sending the Obliviators out, though."

"We'll try our best," said Harry.

When Kingsley had gone, Draco said, "It feels strange going back to work after all that excitement." He looked restless but heavy.

"It'll be a little bit strange when Death is back," said Harry.

"I know – it's weird, we might be making a pig's ear out of it but you can't help but feel important, cutting down people's souls. When everything's back to normal no one'll care if I get up in the morning or do anything on time or the right way or anything," said Draco.

"Well, you could, and I know this sounds mad, but you could get a job," said Harry.

"Oh, fuck off," said Draco. "I don't have to work." He paused. "Maybe I could be an Auror! That sounds good, doesn't it? Reformed ... fights crime! I bet I could be as good as _you_."

"Yeah, whatever, Draco. First things first, let's get on."

"Don't you believe I could do it? I'm a very competent wizard, don't you realise that?" Draco stood back from Harry's beckoning arm, chin set in mixed real and mock offense.

"Well, yes. You've been very competent just today, with the fight and that spell, of course I realise," said Harry.

Draco smirked a little guiltily.

*

That evening, Harry was in the Hogs Head with a few Auror friends when an Unspeakable (Eloise Midgen) Apparated in with Draco. Eloise looked about her wildly; finding Harry's table, she dashed up to him and grasped his sleeve. "Come quickly," she said.

Harry looked at Draco. He looked pale but excited. "Death's put in an appearance," he said.

"Shh!" hissed Eloise and the Aurors even as the room disappeared.

They were in the Department of Mysteries, in the big room Harry had been in a few weeks before. It was lit by a few candles on the table and just as they arrived someone surreptitiously moved a candle back, out of the way of Death. Death was sitting on the edge of the table, creating a fire hazard and swinging his feet. Returning from his honeymoon, he was wearing not black robes but a rather post-coital embroidered dressing gown.

"Hello!" he said. "Two of you, and I only left one of you in charge. And correct me if I am wrong, Draco Malfoy, but aren't you supposed to be dead?"

"Is he?" asked Kingsley. "I knew that halo had to mean something."

"What of?" asked an Unspeakable, leaning forward.

Draco went from still and frightened to looking quickly from one person to another as mortification approached.

"Shall we get to the point?" he asked.

"What is the point? You made the overture," said Death, uncurling his finger bones in the direction of the scattered group from the Ministry.

"Well," said Kingsley. "I think you've had a honeymoon now. Harry and Draco have tried their best but it hasn't _really_ been adequate, and the situation is worsening daily. I think it's time you came back."

"So," said Death, sounding pleased with himself. "You did not manage very well by yourselves."

"It's not like we said we _would_," said Harry, irked by his attitude.

"Rather in danger of finding yourselves in a perpetual Halloween, aren't you?" said Death. He pushed himself off the table and began walking a slow circle around them. "Let me ask you this. Why should I have to arrange these things for you just because you are not good at them yourselves? Why should you be so cosseted, why should you not take responsibility for the "supernatural" – Death's fingers formed air-quotes – "on your own shoulders."

There was a silence. "But it's your _job_," said Merthington, sounding aggrieved.

"Who says so?" demanded Death, turning on him. "Who employs me?"

"Well, that's just it," said Kingsley. "We don't know how these things work. It isn't our realm."

"It's not your realm because you're all cowards who run away from it. It's _your_ business. These dead people, they're _your_ friends and relatives, not some special breed invented by me. Why should I do all the work?"

They all stared at Death, indignation wearing through the disbelief.

"Do you mean to say you're leaving us to do it for good?" asked Draco.

"Surely someone or something wanted you to be Death," said Harry. "I mean ... you _are_ Death. You're a personification. I'm not Death, I'm Harry. Death can't just be some bloke called Harry."

"I don't _have_ to do anything, whatever is intended. I am a free agent. If I want anarchy, there can be anarchy."

"Oh God, are you in cahoots with Samuel?" asked Draco, words falling over themselves disgustedly.

"Samuel is all his own idea. But not a bad one, as far as I'm concerned. My point is, you need me to deal with your mysteries if you want everything to happen how you expect it."

"What are your demands," asked Kingsley.

Death stopped. "Not just mine, actually." He reached inside his dressing gown and pulled out a piece of paper. "I have drawn up a petition of sorts. Signed by: the Devil (otherwise known as Lucifer, Beelzebub, Satan etc), the Fool, the Archangel Michael, the Lord of the Underworld, the Rivers Thames, Nile and Congo, The Person Formerly Known As Love, Truth, Merlin, and the Styx boatman. We are all very disgruntled."

"I thought Merlin was dead," said Harry.

"No. He doesn't do much, mind – but he's certainly important. He has clout." Death seemed a trifle nervous. This was obviously his big moment.

"I think you and the Devil are probably the big names on that list," said Kingsley.

"And Love and Truth," said Harry, feeling priggish.

"I mean particularly in terms of scaring the public. And these people will go on strike unless we do what?" asked Kingsley.

"Holidays, for a start. You'll give us holidays, and regular hours, because you'll do some of our work. And we were thinking that there would be discussion and sharing of responsibility. You will no longer have the privilege of leaving yourselves out of your own dirty business," said Death.

An Unspeakable gingerly took the list from Death's hand.

"I guess we would be significantly inconvenienced," he admitted, reading them over once again. "But," he said, looking up, "What if you are only calling our bluff?"

"Yes," said Kingsley. "What if we do nothing and you do not after all have the nerve to strike?"

"We are quite alright with letting humanity topple while we wait for you to come running back to us. Quite alright. You can do as you see fit, and we will lose nothing."

Kingsley and the Unspeakables "Mmm'ed" thoughtfully and Harry and Draco looked at each other.

"I can see you looking all self righteous," and Harry realised Merthington was talking to them officiously. "You needn't think, they can talk, we're the ones getting our hands dirty. We've had to try and clean up your mistakes."

"Oh, come come," said Death teasingly. "They haven't done too badly. What's wrong with the odd ghost here and there?"

"The Muggles are very unhappy," said an Unspeakable.

"Anyway, Mr. Potter, how do you feel about all this? Ready to struggle on?" Death had started circling again, his nervous moment replaced by the smug air of a murderer confessing all before the crucial moment.

Harry hesitated. "What you're saying doesn't sound completely unreasonable."

"Thank you, Mr. Potter. Consider us a trade union, Minister. We want an end to this thoughtless tyranny of Mortals."

Kingsley sighed and turned away for a moment. "This is a worldwide matter. Why are we stuck dealing with it?"

"It just so happened like that. Besides, this way it's nice and self-contained. I thought you liked things to be discreet," said Kingsley.

"I wonder if it would be possible to keep it within the Ministry, create a Department for it," said Kingsley.

"We must all meet together, my ... colleagues too, and thrash out the details. Tomorrow afternoon perhaps, to give you some time to think of some really good people you want to involve," said Death, sounding almost unsinisterly enthusiastic.

"I could do that!" said Draco. Everyone looked at him.

"Ah yes," said Death. "Not tired of being me?"

"I was thinking more on an organisational level," Draco said, not quite muttering.

"Oh, we mustn't waste you. You could be on the Devil's team. Or Love's – The Person Formerly Known As Love, I mean." Harry wondered if Love had thrown a strop about something.

"Maybe I could," said Draco recklessly. "Minister, can I?"

"I'm sure we can fit you in somewhere," said Kingsley wearily. "I suppose this organisation would operate as an adjunct to the Department of Mysteries."

"Very hush hush, yes. Mortality and abstraction running the world together, I can't believe it's really happening," said Death. "Shall we meet back here tomorrow at two?"

"What about us, tomorrow?" interrupted Harry.

"You mean should you go to work? I think the world's souls can just go hang for a day," Death said.

Harry wasn't so sure about that. "So you don't want anything else from us?" said Harry. "We can just leave as we are?"

Death's skull turned in the same direction as Harry's thoughts, towards Draco. Draco jumped. "Yes, as you are," said Death. "And may I take the opportunity to say you have been everything I hoped? Both of you ... I chose well."

"Oh good," said Harry, wondering what that meant. He pulled on Draco's sleeve. "We'll be off then."

Outside, the door closed behind them, they looked at each other and gasped a laugh before running down the corridor to the lift as if they were caught in the rain. In the Atrium, they hesitated before the fireplace.

"My place?" said Harry.

"You've never even been to my house," said Draco.

"Do you—"

"No, yours is fine," said Draco. He tripped out of the fire before Harry, caught off guard by the momentum. He stood looking at Harry silently.

"That was a turn up for the books," Harry said.

"It was a pretty good turn up for the books, all things considered," Draco said, face livening. "I think this could be an exciting career for me."

"Well, it's a brand new field, you get to write the rules," said Harry. "I still feel like maybe Death hasn't realised what a hash we made out of things and it's still going to come back and haunt us, ha ha."

"He likes that we messed it up and got all those ghosts everywhere," said Draco. "Weren't you listening when he said we'd been everything he hoped? He chose you on purpose so everything would work out just how it did. I bet I was part of his plan, too."

Harry was silent. He felt his cheeks getting hot. "I think it was an interesting thing to happen, getting to know you. I've had a thought, actually ..." He paused, wondering if he was really going to do this. He looked at Draco's frowning face, and decided yes. "Do you think it – that we should—"

"Get together, do you mean? Is that what you're saying?" asked Draco.

"Yes," said Harry, smiling in relief but looking at Draco, waiting to be sure Draco wanted this.

"You and me?" Harry nodded. "Yes. Yes, I wouldn't mind trying that." They both laughed, flushed and silly. Harry reached out and held Draco's cheek, pushing so he could feel the cheekbone against the flat of his hand, his thumb under Draco's jaw. Draco put his hands on his shoulders and leaned in, slow and deliberate.

When they kissed, Harry had that _this is going to happen_ feeling he used to have with Ginny. As if he were a jockey just as his horse jumped something, that sense of lift-off, knowing it would be alright when he landed. With the people after Ginny, he'd often felt unsure, on edge, not knowing what the other person wanted or if he could give it. Draco's finger was on the pulse in Harry's neck and Harry could hear him breathing, quick and sharp through his nose. It seemed so dramatically appropriate, two enemies reconciling, like it had seemed so right to want Ginny, fierce and sweet like a heroine. Maybe Harry was more of a romantic than he'd thought. They stopped kissing, withdrawing their tongues at the same moment, and leaned forehead to forehead.

Harry suddenly realised he had Draco, could see and do and find out anything he wanted. He jumped up.

"We should have sex!" he said.

"Okay," said Draco.

Harry pointed to his bedroom like a Nativity show shepherd sighting the star, and led the way. Draco smoothed the duvet and sat down to watch approvingly as Harry took his clothes off. Then he pushed Harry down on the bed and quickly moved to straddle him, still clothed. When he began to grind Harry put his hands on his hips to move him backwards and forwards slowly, so he could feel the cloth against his cock without chafing. He looked straight ahead at Draco's neck and thought, I'm going to trust you and you're Draco Malfoy and it's terrifying. He closed his eyes for a moment and thought; it can be the good kind of terrifying.

"Come on," said Harry, trying to sit up. He tugged on Draco's shirt. Draco lifted his hands to the buttons but Harry pushed them away and undid the shirt himself.

A little later, Harry's hands were braced on either side of Draco's neck, his back rising and dipping as he thrust into Draco. One of Draco's hands clasped his shoulder, the other cupping his cock as his pelvis bucked up, both into his hand and against Harry's stomach. His head was turned sharply to one side, and he made short little sounds, concentrating as if building up an orgasm was an important endeavour. Harry brushed his cheek with his finger and kissed him when Draco turned his head. Then Harry's own approaching orgasm began the homeward run and he propped himself back up on his arms.

Afterwards they lay side by side on the bed. Harry closed his eyes, one of his hands in Draco's, the fingers of Draco's other hand running lightly over his stomach, and considered having another go. Draco sat up suddenly.

"Oh God, this time next week I'm going to be running up and down the banks of the Thames pretending to be a river or something, and I'll have brought it all on myself."

Harry laughed. "You can bring back gossip about the Devil. I think it'll be really interesting, and like I said, in a brand new field you can't do much wrong. I think it's a good thing for you. It was pretty brave to get yourself into it."

Draco smiled. Then he hunched over Harry and looked at him earnestly. "Do you know what I did this morning?"

"What did you do this morning?" asked Harry.

"I take it you _don't_ know. Well, you know that trouble we had, with that man, and being seen? Yes, I arranged that."

"And why did you do that?" said Harry, startled.

"You know how I fought the man? I wanted to make a kind of show for you—"

Harry put his hands over his face and started laughing helplessly.

"So I'd look brave and you'd think I wanted to save you. I had to take the perception thing off so the man could see us. When I disappeared just before, I went to find someone in the street I could pay to attack you and let me fight him." Draco was half laughing himself, though he pushed Harry's shoulder to try to make him stop, half trying to put a front on his cringing. "Maybe it would have been a better moment to tell you this earlier."

"I think it's sweet in a lot of ways," said Harry. He took his hands away from his face to see Draco scowling at him. He found himself painfully endeared to Draco by his embarrassingness, his unhideable obviousness, and reached up to cup his face in his hands. "I don't mind, it's fine. I'm interested to know how our courtship would have played out if you'd been left to your own devices, though."

"I would have been tremendously impressive and had you in the palm of my hand," said Draco, and leant down to kiss Harry.

Over his shoulder, Harry spotted the scythe leaning against the wall. "You can take that in tomorrow and give it back to Death," he said, and thought what a nice new day tomorrow would be.

  
_fin_   


_   
**Incarnate 2/2**   
_


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